I would never agree. You know that. “You never mentioned it?”, you asked. Never.
Why would I?
Our 43 days together, would mark an unaccomplished friendship. If grandma knew that her favorite grandson was the reason I left. She would disown him. Literally. Conversations only got more awkward. So I wasted time burying myself between sand particles and watched the sea waters attempt to drag me inside.
On July 20th, I expected grandma at the train station. I waited for her. Instead I find you approaching me. You smile, I glare. I squeaked “How do I know you’re not a kidnapper?” You laughed. “I sure as hell don’t look like one” I walked, you followed. Everything seemed blurry. You caught up and handed me your phone. My ears weren’t catching on to grandma’s mellow tone. “I miss you too. Yeah, I am fine.” I laughed. It wasn’t funny. I was just trying to be modest.”
Grandma believed in her youth. She believed in everything. The wrinkles near the corner of her pale lips vaguely stretched. In the mornings, you’re always the early bird. I would wake up to the smell of fresh baked cookies or bread. Grandma ranted about you. You were always right beside her. I was the outsider.
You took me around. Lent me your sneakers when my flip flops also gave up on me. Everyday, you tried. I failed. You allowed me to blend in. Covered my hand firmly as if I may accidently slip away.
Grandpa was waiting for me to visit him. I expected you to take me, but you stayed behind. I walked in and sat in the middle of nothing. Grandpa, I trusted you. But then again, I lost everyone I trusted.
I turned to find you right behind me. You looked like him. Your green eyes dimmed jealously. This time, I would take care of you.
That morning everything was ready. Planned. When I got back, you wouldn’t be waiting. I remember you bluntly asking me “How long does this last?” And for the first time, I was sure. Of everything, of us. Instead, I resisted.